


So Like a Person

by gloss



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Awkward Crush, Bickering, Bisexual Characters, Canon Divergent, F/F, Getting Together, New wings, Wingfic, flying in a big open field, sullivan street pit, wing type - magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25148701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: The pit gives April wings.Ann tries to help.
Relationships: April Ludgate/Ann Perkins
Comments: 7
Kudos: 30
Collections: Wingfic Exchange June 2020





	So Like a Person

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tiny_Black_Cat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiny_Black_Cat/gifts).



> Set during early season 2, diverging from canon in that Leslie and Mark got together over the summer while Ann remains single and there's no sign of Andy.
> 
> Title from a conversation later in the season:  
>  **Andy:** You're like an angel without wings!  
>  **April:** So, like a person?

Invariably, when Ann's phone woke her in the middle of the night, it was Leslie on the other end of the line. Her crises ranged from minuscule to manageable, frequently looping around to hover over imaginary. What they tended to share, however, was the fact that they all could wait until daylight and business hours.

Not so tonight.

"Channel Four!" Leslie said. "Channel Four! Now!"

Groggily, Ann fumbled for the remote. When the TV came on, Perd Hapley filled the screen; he wore pinstriped pajamas and a flannel bathrobe. "The story tonight is that this story is not a dream, more like a nightmare, but one that happens in reality when you're awake..."

The chyron on the bottom read: _Cryptid Catastrophe? Mothman spotted in Ramsett Park!!!!_

"Leslie, what's going on?"

"That's what I would like to know! Are we under attack? Invasion? What's next? A yeti? I don't think our tree cover can handle a yeti, Ann, there's just no way —"

"Leslie."

"Or am I thinking of Sasquatch? I'm thinking of Sasquatch, Pawnee's not nearly cold enough for a yeti, even in winter. Well, maybe in winter, the winter of '75 saw _quite_ a dip in temperatures, you could skate right down Newport Crick, you know."

"Leslie."

It took several moments, but eventually Leslie's panic-babble slowed, sputtered, then came to a stop. "Yes?"

"Leslie, there's no such thing as a yeti. Or Mothman."

Leslie snorted derisively. "Next you'll be telling me there's no Yeast Boy."

"What's a Yeast —" Ann broke off, distracted by a strange shadow moving ( _fluttering?_ ) past the window in her living room. She slid out of bed and padded into the entryway. "Hold on."

"Ann? Ann? Ann!"

"I'm right here," she said quietly. "Just — shush for a second?"

Ann crouched down as she neared the front window. The shadow passed again, hunched and shadowed. It seemed to be lurching slightly. Her stomach did a weird side-to-side somersault.

"Leslie, I'm going to go —"

"Do not hang up on me! Ann Janelle Perkins, I swear to —"

Ann held the phone away from her ear, then jumped when the doorbell rang. Shaking hard, she checked the peephole. "Oh. Oh, it's just April."

"April from the Parks and Recreation Department April?"

"Yes," Ann said, unlocking the door. "The ver one." April stood motionless, shoulders hunched up to her ears, eyes downcast.

"Fun! I should come over, it'll be like a slumber party minus the slumber!"

"Is that Leslie?" April asked. "Is she like your girlfriend? Why don't you get married if you like her so much?"

"Come in," Ann said first, checking the street. The last thing she needed was Laurence next door calling the cops on her for waking his grandmother. When April had drifted inside and the door was safely locked again, Ann said to Leslie, "Look, I'm going to go. We'll talk later, okay?"

"But Ann, the Mothman!"

"There's no Mothman," Ann told her and rolled her eyes for April's benefit. "It's probably just someone playing a prank."

Leslie inhaled sharply. Then she said, simply, " _Pikitis_ ", and hung up.

"Sorry about that," Ann said, then wondered why she was apologizing to the sullen girl who'd rung her doorbell at — she checked the time — 3:37 in the morning. April stood next to the couch, bangs in her eyes, her legs crossed like she needed to pee. The light from the kitchen was harsh on her downturned face.

"I'm the Mothman," April said. "It's me."

Ann didn't believe her. She didn't laugh, either, because she'd learned not to show vulnerability around April, lest she suddenly find herself on the receiving end of some very bitter scorn and mockery. It wasn't until she'd gotten April to sit on the couch and take off her oversized hoodie and, most importantly, _repeat herself_ , that Ann did laugh.

"You're the Mothman? Really."

"Shut up," April mumbled. "This is a HIPAA violation."

Okay, that was something that Ann did have to take seriously. "What is?"

"You can't laugh at your patient," April insisted. "It's like attorney-client privilege or whatever. Can't laugh, can't testify against me."

Ann wanted coffee. But also a nap. A nice long nap from which she would arise fresh and rested and blissfully ignorant of any of Leslie's weird coworkers.

"Let's start over," she said. "What brings you by, April? At 3:40 AM?" Spouting bullshit about being my patient and also Mothman, she managed not to add.

"I hurt my wing," April said. "I need you to fix it."

"April..." Ann trailed off, unsure what to say. Could she just kick the kid out of her house? That would be nice. She didn't miss living with someone, but it would be cool, just now, to have someone who could throw April out and let Ann go back to sleep.

Huffing impatiently, April tugged off her t-shirt and twisted at the waist to show Ann her back. Two wings, glossy black, were folded against her shoulder-blades. One looked slightly askew, ruffled somehow, compared to its sleeker mate.

"April?" Ann asked. April had wings. On her back. 

April looked over her shoulder. Her expression was as bored and glum as ever. "I hurt my wing, Ann. Fix it. You're a medical professional, sort of."

"Okay, first of all, I _am_ a medical professional, period —"

"Ugh, I don't care. Not important!"

"No, I guess not." Ann bit her lip. "This is a prank, right?"

"A-a-a-nnnnn," April whined, stringing out Ann's name into about fifteen syllables. "This is your fault, anyway. You and your stupid pit!"

"What?" Ann shook her head. She had to stay on topic. If only she knew what the topic was. "Can I — can I touch them?"

"You kinda have to, if you're gonna fix them."

"I'm not a veterinarian, April." For half a moment, Ann considered asking Next Door Laurence for help. He kept birds, after all. He'd know what to do. But then she realized that was ridiculous. First of all, _April had wings_. Also, Laurence couldn't be much help because April's wings didn't have feathers. The surface was almost smooth to the touch, yet slightly iridescent; when Ann stroked softly, her finger came away with some glitter on it. April shivered, her head dropping forward. "Are these butterfly wings?"

"I don't know! They're wings and they make me fly," April said. "What do you want, an oral report and diorama on them?"

"And you've always had them?"

"Are you _deaf?_ " April yelled. "No!"

"Hey, calm down —"

"You calm down! I broke my fucking wing! Also, I have wings now!"

Ann held April by one shoulder. "It's okay, I'm sorry. Just let me take another look, all right?"

"Fine." April hunched further away. Her spine was knobby and her back pale as meringue. Somehow, her wings looked like they fit — the way they curved out of her matched the lines of her scapular muscle and their complicated color echoed her hair. "Get on with it."

"Thanks, Ann, for letting me in and giving me free medical help," Ann sing-songed as she examined the wings. Part of her didn't want to stop touching them; they were at once so soft and incredibly strong. "Really nice of you, I wouldn't dream of yelling..."

"Shut up," April murmured, but she sounded a little calmer. 

On further inspection, Ann wasn't sure if these were butterfly wings after all. They were shaped like a butterfly's, that curving-in, two-lobed structure, and they definitely had that glittery scale-thing happening, but they also seemed to be composed of a single, stretchy membrane that let them roll up and fold down against April's back. She'd compare them to bat wings, but they were beautiful.

April claimed she had been flying around Ramsett Park, testing the wings, when she swooped too low and bumped one on the football field goalpost.

"Uh-huh," Ann said, smoothing down the mussed patch on the hurt wing. She'd become accustomed not to trust anything April said, even if it sounded true. "Okay."

April didn't respond at first, but she did sigh softly. If this were anyone else, Ann would have classified that as a "happy" sigh. She repeated the motion, one palm curved along April's ribcage, the fingers of her other hand stroking down the scales. The sigh came again.

"Feel good?" Ann asked.

"Doesn't hurt," April replied, which was, Ann assumed, the best she was going to get. "Are you done yet?"

"I..." Ann cupped the bottoms of April's shoulder-blades and looked her over again. "I don't know. Does it still hurt?"

"No."

"You didn't tear anything. Can you lift your arms okay?"

April demonstrated.

"Okay, rotate them?"

Huffing irritably, April did that, too.

"It looks a lot better," Ann told her. She brushed her fingertips a few more times down the part that had been askew. "And your body muscles seem fine."

"Cool." April was tugging on her shirt and hoodie. Without looking at Ann, she jumped to her feet and said in a rush, "Okay, thanks for the help, real big of you, don't tell anyone, ever I mean it, okay bye."

"Wait —"

The front door slammed and April was gone.

*

The Pawnee Mothman was sighted a few more times over the next week, all in city parks. Leslie was beside herself. She was convinced it was living in one of the parks, stalking innocent civilians, readying itself for a bloodthirsty rampage.

Tom was no help; he just kept sending Leslie more cryptid exposes from YouTube.

Ron said that if the Mothman wanted to feast, that was natural law, nothing over-civilized, soft-bellied decadent humans could hope to do in the face of a superior predator.

Ann was running out of ideas for calming Leslie down. She had to talk to April.

Every time she was in the office, she tried to catch April's eye, but April just shrugged and looked away. She even cornered April in the line at the City Hall coffee cart, but April tossed sugar packets as a diversion and escaped in the other direction.

Ann copied down April's phone number from Leslie's phone tree (the full one, framed and hung in her home bathroom), but no one answered. She tried the Ludgates listed in the phone book, but although the chipper man on the other end said, "Zuzu? I'll go get her!", no one ever came to pick up.

Finally, she braved Augtoberfest in an effort to corner April. Leslie had arranged the event to celebrate Pawnee's German heritage, but scheduled it for the weekend before Labor Day so as not to conflict with Eagleton's far fancier Oktoberblitz (name change pending).

"Nice dirndl." Sneering, April tried to slip past, but Ann blocked her way.

"We have to talk."

"I already said nice dirndl! What else is there to say? Great boobs?"

With her free hand, Ann tugged up the bodice. Her breasts felt super-exposed in this costume, but Leslie had insisted. She and Mark were decked out in matching lederhosen embroidered with the Pawnee city seals; Ann would have given anything to wear those silly suspenders and short-shorts.

"You have to stop..." Ann looked around. "Getting _seen_."

April chugged her drink from its plastic stein. "Whatever."

"I'm serious, April!"

"You're bossy," April said. "But you're not the boss of me."

"No, but Leslie is, and she's losing her mind —"

"Leslie's always going crazy about something."

Ann didn't want to agree, but April had a point. She pursed her lips and tried a new tack. "But in this case, we can do something about it."

April swayed a little. Maybe she was drunk, maybe her weird posture, all hunched and twisted-up, was to blame. "Are you going to let me go?"

"What were you doing in the pit anyway?"

"What," April said, so flatly that it couldn't be registered as a question.

"You said the — the _apparatus_ happened when you were in the pit."

"Apparatus?"

Ann looked around again. "You know. The...flap-flap-flap."

"You're terrible at interrogation."

"Just answer the question."

"I was down there with my coven —" When she lied, April's voice got squeaky.

"See, now I know you're bullsitting."

"What? How?" She crossed her arms and slumped, despite standing.

"Because to have a coven means there are twelve people in Pawnee you hadn't pissed off, alienated, or otherwise driven away."

Scowling, April looked away. After several moments during which all she did was bang her heel against her other foot and huff out angry little sighs, she muttered, "How would you know how many people are in a coven?"

"I dabbled," Ann said brightly. "In Wicca. In college."

April's grimace twisted not just her face, but her posture, too. "What, like, skyclad and smudging sage and sapphic experimentation?"

Ann nodded rapidly. "Pretty much exactly, yes. All of that."

"Eww!"

"What?"

"Gross!" April moaned as she pulled her shirt's collar up over her chin. "Did you burn your bra and protest Nam, too?"

Ann swallowed her beer too fast and coughed. "How old do you think I am?"

"I don't know. Forty?"

"Even if I were — which I'm not! — that'd mean I was born after 1970."

"So?"

"Forget it," Ann said. The girl had wings but lacked simple arithmetic skills. Great.

"Anyway, I'm gonna go," April said. Too late, Ann realized she'd dropped the arm blocking April's escape.

*

She didn't know what to do about April. To tell the truth, she didn't know what to think about April in the first place. The girl was pissy and kind of consistently mean. Talking to her was like traversing a minefield — not a real, truly dangerous one, but one like Leslie's attempted Fourth of July Spangled Stars hunt ("like an Easter Egg Hunt! But in July when it's really hot and dry and patriotic!"), where thirteen attendees sprained their ankles in just half an hour. Being around April was like opening yourself up to frustrating, if not life-threatening, pain and inconvenience. 

But she couldn't actually be that bad, could she? No one was that morose and mean all the time. 

"No, I think she is," Leslie said when Ann raised the issue. "April's just...April. Too cool for any school, even Hogwarts and Beauxbatons, and don't you forget it, missy." She stabbed her fork, loaded with waffle and cream, at Ann for emphasis. "I love it."

"You," Ann said flatly. "But you're so positive..."

Leslie grinned at her, whipped cream all over her mouth. "Thank you! So are you! Sunshine of my life, that's what I call you." Flustered, Ann looked away and then didn't know what to do with her hands. "She threw a golf trophy at me for that."

"For what? Who? Are you okay?"

"April," Leslie replied promptly. "When I said you were the sunshine. Then she said if I liked you so much, I should marry you." Her fork clattered down on the plate. "Can you _imagine_?"

Ann laughed. "No! No, I really can't."

"Oh," Leslie said sadly. "That's okay, then."

Ann was frozen in her seat. Regret and worry overwhelmed her, so she reached for Leslie's hand. "Leslie, I love you. But I don't, um. You know —"

Leslie nodded, a little too quickly to be convincing. "I know. Same! Samesies. Definitely. Besides, as you know, I'm seeing Mark and —"

"Yeah," Ann said and squeezed her hand. "What do you need with a girlfriend when you've got a Brendanawicz?"

Leslie cheered up quickly after that. She was remarkable that way; Ann wished she had a fraction of that emotional resiliency. Instead, she just seemed to wallow constantly in uncertainty and confusion and indecision.

*

She looked April up online with as many search terms as she could dream up. There wasn't much info out there, though Ann did learn that in middle school, April had been vice-president of the baton twirlers. She had a student page at Wamapoke Community College, where her portrait was actually a bad Xerox of Lady Gaga's meat dress and her major was listed as "none of your business". Ann emailed her using the address there.

She received no reply.

*

She couldn't stop thinking about April's wings. The texture of them, their delicacy overlaying incredible strength, and the way they broke the light and nearly glowed. April's nearly inaudible sigh when Ann touched them. 

The cool taut skin over her ribs and fall of dark hair over one pale shoulder. Those details had nothing to do with the wings, of course, and Ann tried to steer her thoughts away.

But it was all of a piece, wings and skin and even April's characteristic sulky glare. The scent that lingered on Ann's fingertips long after two shifts and several showers, which was slightly electric, like ozone, and made her fillings shiver.

The far more important issue, however, was getting April to fly somewhere safer. Both for her own security and so that Leslie didn't panic herself into a stroke.

*

One afternoon while Ann was waiting for Leslie to finish a meeting so they could have lunch, she studied the map of Mothman Sightings hung on the office wall. The legend had been annotated to read, "Sightings, Stalking Patterns, Feeding Frenzies?!"

White pins indicated sightings that Leslie herself had confirmed with in-person interviews (and follow-up surveys). Blue pins were possible sightings collected from media reports. Red flags were Tom's contribution and signified blood spilled/corpses missing.

Ann removed eleven red pins and stood back. 

All the confirmed park sightings were within biking distance from April's house.

She wasn't flying in town to annoy or frighten anyone. She just didn't have anywhere else to go.

Ann tracked April down in a corner booth at The Bulge during a watching party for the voice mail episode of Alexis Neiers' show.

"Come here often?" April asked huskily and cocked one eyebrow.

"What?" Ann said. "No. I'm here to talk to you."

"Even better," she replied throatily and patted the seat beside her.

"How drunk are you?"

April shrugged. "Austin Powers."

"What?"

"Do I make you —" Her Cockney accent was nearly as bad as Leslie's, made even weirder by her total lack of inflection and affect. "— horny."

"Whatever," Ann said. "I figured out what's been going on." She explained about the map and her theory that April had to bike to go flying. "Don't you have four boyfriends or something? They couldn't drive you?"

"I have two," April muttered. "Derek has a canary-yellow VW K70."

"Okay, so —" Ann didn't know cars very well, but that sounded good.

"From 1972. It doesn't have an engine."

"Oh."

"Or seats."

"Oh."

"And Ben has, I don't know, a Shetland pony or something."

Ann stole a sip of April's drink. It was surprisingly fruity and sweet. "So that's out, I guess."

"You think you're so smart," April mumbled. "Shows what you know."

This girl was unbelievable. Ann gathered up her jacket. "I was just trying —"

"Interferey and bossy," April told the table. "Who even asked you."

"You did!"

April's pout grew by three sizes. Her arms were crossed so tightly over her chest that Ann was reminded of being in middle school and junior high and trying not to cry. She'd hold herself just that hard to make it through study hall.

What did April have to cry about, though?

"Well, I'm unasking you," April said. "Consider yourself not asked."

Ann shook her head. "You know, maybe if you were nicer, you'd have someone to help you."

April didn't reply. She slumped down, chin against her collarbone, and squinted at the napkin in her hands.

"Fine," Ann said. "I'm gonna go."

"So go then."

"I am!"

She hadn't fought like this with someone since breaking up with Andy. Her face was hot and her breath came sharp and she had to sit in her car for about ten minutes until she was calm enough to drive.

That girl was _infuriating_.

So why did Ann keep trying?

*

April showed up again at Ann's front door two days later. It was twilight, and Ann had just finished her shift. She'd barely changed out of her scrubs and started making dinner. April leaned on the bell so it went on and on and _on_.

"Hi," April said when Ann finally opened the door. "What's for dinner?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's dinner time," April said and wiggled inside. "And you cook all the time. What's on?"

"April, I've been trying to talk to you for a week!"

Her cuffs were tugged over her fists as April spread her arms. "Here I am, yay, let's eat."

Clearly, Ann was going to have to feed her. April's stubbornness was in a league with that of Andy and Leslie: _implacable_. She doubled the amount of pasta she added to the water and cut the meatballs she'd defrosted in half.

"Leslie's really freaking out," Ann told her when April was helping herself to seconds. "You can't keep getting spotted."

"Getting spotted doing what?"

"Uh," Ann said and paused meaningfully, her brows raised. April just mirrored her expression and circled her hand. "Flying?"

"I've been spotted flying?"

"It's all Leslie talks about, April!"

"Why do you like Leslie so much? Is she your girlfriend?"

"Why do you always ask me that?"

"Why do you never answer it?"

"Oh, my God, all right." Ann pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and tried to breathe. "We're not talking about Leslie right now."

"You were the one who brought her up," April muttered doggedly.

"Okay, that's on me," Ann said. "What we're talking about is you getting spotted flying."

April tipped back in her chair. "How do you know it was me?"

"Are there other people in Pawnee with wings?"

"I don't know, it's a big town, it —" April sighed and brought her chair back down. "Fine. How do you know I've been spotted?"

"Because it's all anyone can talk about? It's in the papers and on the news? Any of this ring a bell?"

April examined her fingernails. "I don't put much stock in mainstream media."

"Wow," Ann said. "Okay, wow." She pinched the bridge of her nose. Her headache kept on throbbing. "I don't know what else to say."

"Can I have that?" April pointed at Ann's half-finished dinner.

Ann pushed it over, then put her head down on her folded arms. She listened to April eat, then rise and use the bathroom. She took her time wandering back to the table; Ann peeked and saw her ducking into the bedroom.

"April! Get out of there!"

"What, I didn't —" April returned to the table. "Your house is really lame."

Ann snorted. "Thanks."

"So why were you stalking me?"

"Stalking you?"

"Calling my house, coming into my work, emailing me? Stalking."

Ann had to take a moment to let the irritation and frustration surge up through her, then disperse. She needed to stay focused. "I just wanted to talk to you about being more careful. Not to get spotted."

"Because of Leslie."

"That's part of it, sure. I don't like her getting upset."

"Ugh."

"But I was also —" Ann shrugged. "I'm also worried about you."

It was true, she realized. She might as well be honest.

April's gaze flickered up. One corner of her mouth twitched. Then she seemed to come to her senses, because she rolled her eyes. "I'm a grown-up. I can take care of myself. In fact —" She reached for the bottle of red wine Ann had forgotten on the counter. "Think I'll have a little nip."

"Aren't you way underage?"

"Joke's on you, I'm 34."

Ann paused, considering that. "Are you really?"

"Yes." April's chin jutted out slightly. "Totally."

"Okay, nice try, really cute," Ann said. She even wagged her finger for emphasis.

"Thank you," April replied. Her smirk was the closest thing to a smile Ann had ever seen on her face. "I know I am."

"Uh-huh."

After that, things got easier between them. Ann didn't feel pissed off and April didn't seem to feel the need to try and piss Ann off. They had dessert — April found a half-full box of Choco Tacos at the back of the freezer and helped herself before tossing one at Ann — and watched the news. Halfway through Jeopardy!, having missed the Daily Double because she was yawning so deeply, Ann said, "Okay, this has been great, but I need to sleep."

"What is a bad brush-off, Alex?" April asked.

"No, I think it's _what's the atomic weight of helium_ —. Oh. You mean me."

"You're so quick," April said and snapped her fingers.

"Seriously, April, I need to get to sleep."

"Sleep when you're dead," April muttered, but she got to her feet.

At the door, they both hesitated. Ann had the weirdest, wildest thought that they were each working out how to kiss the other goodnight.

To ward _that_ off, she said, "I'll drive you outside of town, okay? Just let me know when's good for you."

April started to say, "Don't put yourself out —" but quickly waved away her words. "Thank you."

"Was that so hard?"

"Yes."

"Well, it was nice."

"Ew."

"Ew yourself," Ann said, smiling, and closed the door.

*

She picked April up just after sunrise a few days later. The sky was mottled with peach and yellow and pink, but the shadows of things were still long and deep. When she'd finished her shift, Ann didn't leave the hospital immediately, the way she usually did. Instead, she took a little time to change into regular clothes and brush her hair. She even redid her lipstick.

April was sitting with her back against her family's mailbox. When Ann pulled up, she got to her feet and said through the window, "No, thank you, strange grown-up, I don't want any candy."

"April, that's so wrong."

April hesitated, one eyelid twitching. "You're right," she said as she slid inside. "Sorry."

It was the first time she'd ever said something remotely apologetic. Ann tried to savor the moment.

On the drive, April fidgeted with the music so much that Ann finally slapped her hand away and said, "No music. Let's talk."

"Ugh, why?"

Ann passed a creaky station wagon. "Because I'm doing you a huge favor and I feel like talking."

April put both her feet up on the dash. Ann considered telling her not to, but she didn't especially feel like being called a bossy nag just then.

"Okay, fine," April said. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Why were you in the pit? What happened?"

April thumped her head against the window. "Seriously?"

"I live right next door to it! What if it's toxic and that's why you sprouted wings? I should probably know, don't you think?"

"It's not toxic," April said. "It might be magic, but it's not toxic."

"What happened?" Ann left the highway, turning down a long farm road.

"Nothing. I was down there. Then it happened. The end."

Ann pulled to a stop and turned off the car. "It just happened."

"That's what I said!"

"What were you doing down there?"

April's gaze darted this way and that. She half-shrugged, rubbing her shoulder against her ear. "Chilling?"

"Uh-huh."

"I don't know what you want from me!" April's face was flushed, her eyes a little glittery. Guilt jabbed sharply at Ann, right in the chest.

"Whoa," Ann said. "We're just talking. Sorry."

"You think I'm stupid."

"No. Of course I don't think you're stupid. Wait, what the hell? Why would I think you're stupid?"

"...never mind." April was curled in on herself like a bug.

"I'm sorry," Ann said. She didn't know what she was apologizing for, but she couldn't stand seeing April this upset.

April didn't respond. They spent a few long minutes awkwardly quiet before April yanked open the door and slid out. "I was doing a spell and it went wrong."

"A spell?"

April bounced impatiently as she pulled off her hoodie. "Stupid love spell, it's not important. Can I go fly now?"

"Yeah," Ann said softly. "Go have fun."

April pushed her hoodie through the open window before loping away. She'd cut slits in the back of her t-shirt and Ann watched, fascinated all over again, as the wings lifted up and spread wide. She waited in the car, doors open to the fresh morning air, while April ran around the big field. It was dotted with the giant rolls of hay Ann used to think of as elephants. She sipped her coffee and munched on a pastry as the sky went brighter. 

Silhouetted against the radiance, April climbed atop one elephant and jumped. For half a second, stupidly, Ann was seized with fear, but April didn't fall. She lifted up, her iridescent wings spread and beating slowly, and flew in lazy eights over the field. 

Watching, Ann nearly forgot to breathe. Sometimes it was so bright that April winked out, only to reappear, dark and soaring. Her coffee had gone cold, untouched, by the time April returned to the car. Her hair was windswept, her cheeks flushed pink, and she was biting her lip as if stopping a smile.

They were quiet all the way back. Ann's heart was racing; she couldn't imagine how _good_ April felt.

In the Ludgates' driveway, April said, "Next time I'll bring a paragliding harness and take you up."

Thrilled for a split-second, Ann had to cough to cover the catch in her breath. "Where would you find one of those?"

"Uh, I work for the _Parks_ department, I'm pretty sure I can find something."

"Let's take it slow," Ann said. 

April tossed her hair back. "Don't wanna."

*

"You see, Ann, it's like this: those babies believe in me. They trust me. And I have to repay that trust."

Ann slurped on the dregs of her smoothie while Leslie prattled on. They were outside the Pawnee Zoo's Local Wildlife exhibit. A few days ago, while on a stakeout to try to catch the Mothman — "and wouldn't _he_ he be the crown jewel for this exhibit?" — Leslie had assisted what she took to be a rare, majestic Indiana prairie dog in giving birth.

It was an escaped pet ferret, but, as Leslie noted, "that still counts!" since the ferret was living outside. Now she was the self-appointed godmother to nine squirming little things that Ann couldn't look at for very long without feeling a bit nauseous.

"You're so beautiful and kind," Leslie added as she leaned over the barrier to look for the babies, "I'm sure people confide in you all the time. Entrust you with their deepest secrets, probably name you in their wills and add you to property deeds."

"Not really. Mostly they just ask for free medical advice."

Leslie turned and gave her a tight squeeze. "Oh, Ann. That's just their excuse for getting close to you."

Ann doubted very much that Leslie was right. At least in general, Leslie was way off. Regarding April, however, and her erratic hostility spiked with half-moments of near-niceness, Leslie's theory might have been right. It was, at any rate, the closest Ann had yet gotten to understanding just what was going on.

*

Ann was picking at a plate of suspiciously shiny-looking chow mein in the hospital cafeteria when April appeared. She stood across from Ann, eyes narrowed in a glare. "For your information, I don't push people away."

Ann's laugh was loud, like a dog barking. When it died away, she glanced again at April. "Wait, are you being serious?"

"Always."

"Well, that's true." Ann sighed and brushed some hair out of her eyes. "Yes, you do push people away. All the time."

April's eyes went even narrower as she tightened her arms around herself. "Nuh-uh."

Frowning, Ann leaned back slightly. "That's your counter-argument?"

"Maybe? I don't know!" April yanked out a chair and collapsed into it. Slightly more quietly, she added, "You're the one attacking me!"

Very deliberately, Ann took a deep breath and held it as long as she could. "You just showed up here. At my _work_ , to argue about something I said weeks ago. How is that me attacking you?"

April shrugged. "I feel attacked."

"Why would you even care?" 

"What're you talking about?"

Ann threw up her hands. "Why would you even care if I was attacking you? Which —" She jabbed her finger at April. "— I'm not. But what if I was? Why would you care? You're April! You make sure to remind everyone that you're cooler than anyone else on Earth —"

"Thank you."

"Not a compliment!"

"Sounded like one."

"Oh, my God." Ann slumped back and, tipping her face to the skylight, let out a long annoyed groan. "You're the worst."

"Is _that_ a compliment?"

When Ann looked over, she was fighting a smile. "Maybe."

"Okay."

The silence gathered between them, sifting down and filling up the space. It wasn't uncomfortable, just normal. When April spoke again, Ann was slightly startled.

"I don't think I'm better than everyone."

"Yes, you do."

April snorted. "I do _now_ , because I have wings. Objectively, that's better than no wings."

"All right. I'll give you that."

"Thank you." April shifted. "But before —"

"You did, believe me."

"Maybe I knew what was coming. Maybe I'm psychic."

"Great," Ann said. "Just what we need, grouchy mothgirl with psychic powers."

"Mothwoman," April said. "Or Mothlady, I haven't decided."

"We'll workshop them," Ann replied and pushed away her tray. "If Leslie were here, she'd probably want to do focus groups."

April sniffed. "Leslie, Leslie, Leslie."

Checking her pager as she stood up, Ann saw she still had about five minutes left on her break. Over her shoulder, she said, "You're jealous of Leslie."

"What? No." April's chair clattered as she stood and hurried to catch up. "What for? No. No way. Nuh-uh."

They walked together back to Ann's station. 

"I'll see you tomorrow for a drive?" Ann asked.

April's mouth opened and closed. She was really pretty cute when she didn't know what to say.

*

Ann dreamed that night about flying with April. Her hair streamed back in the wind as her wings beat, glittering, against the stars. She had one arm around Ann's waist, effortlessly holding her close, as they rose higher and higher. The air crackled around them with electricity. When April kissed her, Ann was already moving in, arm around April's neck, mouth opening.

She woke _yearning_.

*

When she picked up April the next early morning, there was no sign of a glider harness. She was disappointed as much as she was relieved. Such a risk couldn't be safe, after all.

This time, she sat on the hood of her car to watch April flying. The engine ticked a little every so often as if in answer to the grasshoppers in the field and the birds in the trees edging the road. April seemed even more confident, rising higher faster and diving sharply. Maybe, Ann thought, then didn't know what to do with the idea, April was showing off.

She had to sound the horn a couple times to get April out of the sky, otherwise April would be late for work.

"You looked good up there," Ann said when April neared the car. For some reason, she didn't want to sound too enthusiastic. Enthusiasm tended to get April's hackles up. "Really good."

April sneered. "Are you making fun of me?"

"Dude," Ann said. "No. I think you looked fantastic, actually."

April was still breathing hard. "Yeah, well, I think you're really pretty and nice and smell amazing and all that kind of stuff!"

Ann smiled. A little at first, then more and more, as April scowled and shuffled in place and tried to act as if she hadn't just said any of those words.

"I like you, too," Ann said.

April's mouth twisted up, but her face was flushed. She kicked at a clump of grass. "You're a goober, though."

"So are you." Ann took her hand and laced their fingers together. "Huge goober."

"You can't tell anyone," April said. "On account of HIPAA."


End file.
